


L'État d'euphorie

by bisoubisou_xx



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: (sort of), Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Cages, Coming Untouched, Fluff and Smut, Fucking Machines, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Restraints, Verbal Humiliation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 18:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7944007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisoubisou_xx/pseuds/bisoubisou_xx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So I saw something the other day that I kind of wanted to try,” Michael said, and Ashton looked blankly at him until he continued. “Online.” Still, Ashton said nothing. “I think there might be some assembly required but, really, it’d be great.”</p><p>Or, Michael and Ashton buy a sex machine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	L'État d'euphorie

**Author's Note:**

> you know how sometimes you just see something that inspires you to write an 8700 word fic about it?  
> that's exactly what happened when i saw [this](http://clemmingsnsfw.tumblr.com/post/149735347839)  
> (link is stupidly NSFW plz be careful)

“Hey, Ashton?” Michael asked, and right from the beginning, Ashton should have known something was amiss. Michael rarely, if ever, called him Ashton, usually sticking to “Ash.”

“Yes, Michael?” Ashton asked in return, looking at him from across the room, over the rims of his glasses, which were perched on the end of his nose, the book he was currently reading open in one hand.

“So I saw something the other day that I kind of wanted to try,” Michael said, and Ashton looked blankly at him until he continued. “Online.” Still, Ashton said nothing. “I think there might be some assembly required but, really, it’d be great.”

“What is it?” Ashton said, dogearing the page of his book and putting it down, removing his glasses as well, folding the arms and placing them on top of the book.

“Uuum,” Michael intoned, and Ashton smirked. That meant, most likely, that Michael was looking at something weird, and he wanted to talk about it, but didn’t want to freak Ashton out.

“Dude, come on,” Ashton said. “We’ve been together for like a thousand years. Just tell me.”

Michael licked his lip and nodded, still looking a little unsure, but his voice was unwavering. “It’s a cage.”

If Ashton was surprised at all, he didn’t show it; he honestly didn’t think that anything Michael said or did or even liked could shock him anymore. “A cage. For what?”

Michael squirmed a little in his seat, untucking his legs from beneath him and putting them down on the floor. “Can I just show you?”

Ashton nodded, and Michael scampered off to their bedroom, returning in just a few moments with his laptop. He sat back down where he’d been before, but upon glancing up at Ashton and catching the expression on his face, slid closer to where Ashton sat in his armchair, turning the computer toward him.

Right away, Ashton could see that he wasn’t about to be treated to something orthodox. The video was just a black rectangle with a white triangle in the center, but the ads around it told him that it was a porn website, and if there was a cage involved, it would be something he’d not only never seen before, but had never even imagined before.

“So, just, keep an open mind, ok?” Michael said, and without giving Ashton a chance to respond, much less really process that statement, he clicked the video. There was a few seconds of blackness on the screen, during which Ashton could see the video was only about 30 seconds long in total, but when the picture faded in, his jaw actually dropped, brow furrowing as well.

A man, naked, facedown and bound, was onscreen, only his cock and ass visible. The cage was completely unmissable—his ass was pressed up against the bars, the thick metal pushing into his skin. Michael bit his lip and looked over at Ashton, watching him watch the video, because truth be told, the cage wasn’t even the main focus.

Behind the—frankly, quite lucky—guy in the video, was a sex machine, pushing and pulling a thick dildo in and out of his loose hole. He was taking it like a fucking _champ_ —Ashton and Michael watched him come, his cock dribbling semen several times over, before the video abruptly ended, pausing on the last frame, the white triangle appearing again.

“What the fuck did we just watch?” Ashton asked, his cheeks warm, though he tried to play it off.

“Well,” Michael said, wiping the history from his browser before closing it out. “Simply put, I believe that could be referred to as ‘my biggest fantasy’.”

Ashton’s head swiveled on his neck to meet Michael’s eyes almost frantically, needing some kind of reassurance that he wasn’t entirely serious. “What?” was the only word Ashton could manage. “Since when?” He was pretty sure that Michael’s biggest fantasy was fucking on top of a giant pizza (although, to be fair, Ashton wasn’t sure if he was serious about that one either, though in a completely different way).

“Since I saw that the other day,” Michael admitted, closing the laptop and placing it on the couch beside him. He scooched closer to the arm of the couch, resting his elbow on it and leaning toward Ashton a little. “It just kind of hit me out of nowhere. And, like, we already kind of...you know, do power play stuff, so I thought this would be...just be really good.”

Ashton let his eyes take in Michael’s face, his eager expression, his wide eyes, his mouth curved into a hopeful little smile.

“Is the, uh,” Ashton began, clearing his throat before continuing. “Fuck machine part of it too?”

Michael’s cheeks tinged pink at that, but he stood his ground. “Yeah.”

Ashton took a breath, looked past Michael at the laptop, and then turned to face his boyfriend. He lifted a hand to cup his cheek, leaned in for a quick kiss, and then stood up from his chair. “I’ll figure it out, then.”

Michael breathed a long sigh of relief, of gratitude. “Thank you,” he said, voice thick with actual adoration for his boyfriend.

–

Michael’s adoration for Ashton didn’t fade—it would be hard for that to happen, really—but Michael had to admit it did wane just a little when Ashton didn’t come home from work the very next day with a cage and fuck machine.

It wasn’t a realistic expectation at all, and yet Michael did find himself slightly disappointed when Ashton walked in, adjusting his glasses on his nose, blazer slung over his shoulder, empty-handed.

“Well?” Michael asked, leaning against the entrance to the kitchen, arms crossed.

“Hello to you too,” Ashton said, smirking a little as he crossed the living room. He gave Michael a peck on the cheek. “What should we eat tonight?” he asked, hanging his jacket over the back of one of the chairs set beside the small table that barely fit two plates on it.

“Are you not going to address the elephant in the room?” Michael said, turning to face Ashton, who was looking in the freezer.

Without removing his head from the appliance, Ashton replied with his own question, moving some items around before pulling out a frozen ready-made pasta meal. “What elephant?” He looked from the package of food in his hands up to Michael’s face.

“The _thing_ you said you were going to _figure out_?” Michael said, using air quotes for extra-extra emphasis.

Ashton looked confused for a beat, then his smile reappeared, dimples appearing for just a flash before he turned away to a lower cabinet, bending down to find a pan to heat up their dinner in.

“I don’t know what’s so funny,” Michael said, stepping closer to lean on the counter, wanting Ashton to see his annoyance.

“You want me to somehow construct a cage that fits you inside _and_ score a machine that can fuck you in one day? I gotta...look into it,” Ashton said, not looking back until Michael made a whining noise. He looked over his shoulder; Michael was pouting at him.

“Mikey,” Ashton said, straightening the pan on the stove before turning and stepping closer to him, arms wrapping around Michael. He leaned into him, trapping Michael against the counter, and peppered kisses all along his jaw before finally reaching his lips. “I promise you, soon, I will lock you in a cage and fuck you with a machine.”

Michael kept his pout for barely another moment, then just broke into a grin. “Best boyfriend ever.”

–  
It wasn’t that Ashton purposely forgot to keep Michael updated on his progress with the request—it was simply that updates were so few and far between that it didn’t seem pertinent to say “Oh, I spoke to someone about that sex machine today, he might be able to hook us up” over dinner.

Michael was growing increasingly impatient, but at the same time he didn’t want to annoy Ashton by asking about it, until an entire month had gone by and Ashton hadn’t even mentioned thinking about it at all.

Maybe the best time to bring it up wasn’t in the middle of sex, but Michael had never really been one to care about technicalities.

“Ash,” he gasped out, trying to compose himself. Ashton’s hand was curled into a tight fist in his hair, pulling on it to arch Michael’s back. Michael was bracing himself against the wall, his hands reaching for it as Ashton tugged his hair back, his hips rutting against Michael’s ass as Ashton fucked him.

“Ash,” Michael tried again, more purposeful this time, his voice less breathy and pleasured, and more business-like.

“What?” Ashton managed, voice tight, his thighs resting against the backs of Michael’s as he ground his cock deeper and deeper into Michael.

“I just was,” Michael began, swallowing a gasp. “Wondering.” He panted a little, working his hips back against Ashton, whose rhythm slightly faltered, because this didn’t sound like dirty talk, or even just regular sex talk.

“What?” Ashton asked again, slowing his movements down, loosening his hold on Michael’s hair a bit.

“Did you get the cage and the fuck machine yet?” Michael asked, turning to look over his shoulder at Ashton.

“Are you serious?” Ashton asked, knowing full well that he was about to come, deep in Michael’s ass, balancing right on the edge, and now he was fielding questions that, really, could have come later.

Michael dipped one hand down his front, fingertips brushing over his cock. “The cage, at least. Did you get that?”

“Michael,” Ashton said, breathless. “Is this really—” He moaned, cutting himself off; Michael had begun jerking his cock, which made him tighten down on Ashton. The pressure around his cock had caused Ashton to involuntarily twitch his hips forward, which in turn made him come, just like he’d feared he would.

“Oh, shit,” Michael said, watching Ashton’s eyes slip closed and his lips part as he came. “Fuck. Did I just ruin your—”

“Michael,” Ashton said, lifting one hand to grip his shoulder, his body still tensing up from his orgasm; he couldn’t miss the smirk on Michael’s face if he tried. “Shut up.”

Michael licked his lower lip, still stroking himself. “Ok, but,” he said, pausing to take a breath just before he came too, his own semen landing on the sheets below them. He leaned forward, his forehead resting against his forearm, before he continued speaking. “Did you get them? Either one.”

Ashton was ready to be mad, not looking up at Michael as he pulled out of him, still taking his time even though he was annoyed, but when he looked up at his boyfriend, his green eyes were so wide, so keen, that Ashton couldn’t even be the slightest bit bitter.

“When I do, you’ll be the first know. I promise,” he said, pressing a kiss to the back of Michael’s shoulder before climbing off the bed. Michael followed him, joining him in the bathroom to get cleaned up before they turned in for the night.

–

The truth was, though, that Ashton already had the cage. It was in the house, though Michael had no idea of it, because he only cared about what he could see right in front of his own two eyes, and Ashton had hidden the cage.

That was actually an overstatement, but the cage was out of sight, which meant it was out of Michael’s mind.

It was quite large, since Michael was too and he was meant to fit inside the thing, but Ashton had managed to assemble the cage in the basement beneath their home without Michael even noticing. It was hilariously out of place down there, settled right in the middle of the room, on top of cheery blue carpet beside the couch they’d set up for gaming in front of the biggest television set they could afford. It was something of a “man cave” before—apparently now, the space could also double as a sex dungeon.

He would move it over to the other side of the basement soon, mostly so Michael wouldn’t see it the next time they decided to play something (or, more accurately, fuck around on the couch). The unfinished half of the basement was very nearly a separate room itself; it was around a corner from the main part, through an opening in the wall, that was probably intended for a pair of double doors meant to enclose the laundry room—because a washer and dryer was all that was through the archway. There was plenty of open space; the cage would definitely fit there.

Most importantly, though: Michael hated going over there. It was dimly lit, with a concrete floor that was almost always dusty no matter how much Ashton swept it, and it could only be described as _clammy_. The carpeted room was nice, homey—but as far as Michael was concerned, the unfinished section was forbidden territory, and he’d never step foot there.

So. Ashton’s plan was to secure the sex machine before he let Michael know that the cage was in the picture, because once he found that out he would be insufferable. The machine itself had been harder to find, but he had managed to get in touch with someone, who knew someone, whose cousin knew someone—after braving a chain of four or five people, Ashton was going to have his hands on a brand new fucking machine, and he honestly couldn’t fucking believe it.

The morning of the day he was supposed to pick it up, he left Michael sleeping in their bed and went downstairs, setting up a pot of coffee before disappearing into the basement. The cage wasn’t light by any means, which meant he had to move it ridiculously carefully to avoid waking Michael with noise—which, really, would be nigh impossible. The boy was the heaviest sleeper he’d ever met.

After every few inches, when the metal scraping across the floor began to sound too loud or too high-pitched, Ashton would stop, take a minute, and then resume his task, stopping on and off until the cage was set squarely in the middle of the laundry room. On top of it were the leather straps that he’d also procured, to hold Michael’s arms and legs in place while he was inside of it. Ashton licked his lip and wiped his brow with the back of his hand, then turned and headed back upstairs. The kitchen was still empty, but the coffeepot was nearly full and he could hear Michael walking around upstairs. Good.

Ashton poured two mugs of coffee, one for himself and one for Michael, and was just getting ready to fix them with cream and sugar when Michael hopped down the stairs, turning into the kitchen.

“Why are you so sweaty?” he asked, as Ashton turned to him, proffering one of the mugs.

“I’m not,” Ashton said, trying to dodge any further questions.

“You look sweaty,” Michael said, sipping the coffee before putting it down at his spot on the table, then crossing to the cabinet above the sink, where they kept cereal bowls.

“Well, I’m not,” Ashton insisted, opening the adjacent cabinet so Michael could pluck the box he wanted from it, filling the bowl nearly to the brim. Ashton watched him. “You won’t have enough room for milk.”

“If you’re not going to tell me why you look like you just ran a marathon then I don’t have to take any cereal advice from you,” Michael said, closing the lid of the box and leaving it on the counter, to Ashton’s annoyance, then crossing to the fridge for some milk.

“I really don’t look like that,” Ashton said, but sighed and sat down opposite Michael, whose cereal was sloshing dangerously around in the bowl each time he dipped his spoon into it. “But it’s because there’s a surprise for you in the basement.” Michael looked up quickly at Ashton, his mouth full of cereal. “Half a surprise.”

Michael swallowed what was in his mouth as Ashton lifted his mug to his mouth. “Which half?”

Ashton just smiled over the rim of the ceramic, shrugging one shoulder as he opened his laptop, still sitting at his place on the table. He’d scroll through the morning news and then let Michael see. “I guess you’ll find out when we go downstairs.”

“Let’s go now,” Michael said, already moving to stand up, but Ashton gave him a stern look.

“Don’t move,” he said, voice low and serious. Michael sat perfectly still; he wouldn’t play around when Ashton spoke with that tone. “We’ll go see it when I’m ready. Finish your breakfast.”

Michael nodded, trying to keep his expression stoic until he looked down at his cereal again, and then he fucking _beamed_. Ashton was already slipping into the role for him, getting ready to dominate him downstairs while Michael obeyed every command. He was already getting horny, sitting at the breakfast table, for Christ’s sake.

Ashton sipped his coffee slowly, occasionally tapping at the trackpad of his laptop, until finally Michael was draining the leftover milk from the bowl, standing up and dutifully placing it in the sink, along with his coffee mug. He stood, looking at Ashton, who was watching him—of course Ashton was watching him.

“You don’t expect me to praise you for that, do you?” Ashton asked, and Michael’s mouth twitched a little, because they were already off to a perfect start if Ashton was this into it so early on.

“No, sir,” Michael said, straightening his back up a little.

Ashton huffed a laugh through his nose, smirking, not bothering to give a response. He stood up from the table as well, putting his mug in the sink. “You can go downstairs,” he said, and Michael suppressed his grin as he turned and stepped toward the door, turning around once it was open to make sure Ashton was following him. He was.

Ashton flicked the lightswitch at the top of the flight as they descended, illuminating the basement below, the carpet warm beneath their bare feet as they reached the lower landing.

“Where is it?” Michael asked, unable to stop himself—Ashton couldn’t even be mad. He sounded so excited that what he wanted was finally happening.

“It’s around the corner,” Ashton said, pointing to the laundry room, and he almost chuckled at how Michael’s face fell completely.

“Are you serious?” he asked, frowning. That part of the basement was his least favorite place, ever, basically.

“Yes,” Ashton said, giving Michael a look. “It’s ok,” he continued, meeting Michael’s eyes with his own. “You won’t be down here by yourself for too long.” He sounded apathetic—Ashton rarely showed any sort of emotion when the _other_ side of their relationship came into play, but if Michael said he didn’t want to do it there, Ashton would drag that goddamn cage literally anywhere in the world for him.

“By myself?” Michael repeated, and Ashton nodded. Michael licked his lip, then walked from where he was standing over to the open space leading into the next room. He grimaced a little when his feet touched the cold concrete, but he didn’t say anything—he didn’t want Ashton to leave him down here even longer as punishment.

Ashton followed at a small distance, and he couldn’t hold back a smile when Michael literally gasped at the sight of the cage. Seemingly forgetting that he was in the part of the basement that he hated, he quickly walked over to it, out of Ashton’s sight for a moment until he caught up at the door. Michael had his hands on top of it, reverently, not missing the straps resting in the center of the top. He turned to look at Ashton, beaming; Ashton returned the smile.

“Do you like it?” he asked, and Michael nodded, his palms moving over the cold metal before he moved to face Ashton again, closing the distance between them and leaning up to kiss him, forgetting that they were still half in the middle of a scene, that he wasn’t supposed to touch Ashton without permission—but Ashton let it slide, kissing Michael back, his hands dipping down to his lower back, palms resting against the soft fabric of Michael’s oversized t-shirt, just above his ass.

“Thank you,” Michael whispered, breathless, kissing Ashton again and again. “Can we do this now? Right now? Please.”

Ashton chuckled, but nodded. “Actually...yeah.” Michael grinned even wider, if possible. “I, um...I have to go pick up the machine. I thought...you could get in while I was gone. I’d just tie up one hand, so you could get out if you needed to, and I’d come in later and check on you.”

“Fuck, please,” Michael said, and Ashton gave him one final kiss before pulling away, stepping backwards from him and tilting his chin up slightly, looking down his nose at Michael.

“Clothes off,” Ashton ordered, and Michael undressed himself. Ashton could see his hands trembling with what he hoped was anticipation. “Color?”

“Green,” Michael said immediately, now standing naked with his clothes in a pile beside him.

“Ok,” Ashton said, moving past Michael and opening the cage door, the lock a simple one, just enough to hold the door shut, not to actually keep Michael inside for any extended period of time. He gestured for Michael to get in, and he did, crouching down and crawling into the cage, looking up at Ashton through the bars—Ashton could see his cock was chubbed up.

“Green?” Ashton prompted, as he shut the door.

Michael nodded. “I’m a fucking emerald.”

Ashton looked at him, closed the door, slid the bolt into place, then crouched down and reached one arm through the bars, slapping Michael right in the face.

Michael gasped, turning to look back at Ashton with his cheek tinged pink, his eyes watering just a little.

“Do you know what that was for?” Ashton asked, voice cold.

Michael took a second to collect himself, thinking, then nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Tell me.”

“Language,” Michael said, glancing up at Ashton to see if he was right. Ashton nodded, and Michael spoke again. “And for not giving you a direct answer, sir.”

“That’s right,” Ashton said, withdrawing his arm. “Which hand do you want free?”

Michael lifted his right arm, so Ashton hit the back of his hand against one of the bars. “Sit here,” Ashton said, and Michael did, settling with his back against the bars. He looked over his shoulder at Ashton to be sure that this was right—when Ashton didn’t correct him, he just lifted his left arm above his head. Ashton stood, picking up one of the smaller straps, for use on the arms, and wrapped it around Michael’s wrist. He fastened it to one of the bars, near the top, and then stuck his hand, holding the key to the lock, through the bars. Michael took it.

“Good boy,” Ashton said, stroking Michael’s hair gently. “I don’t want you to come out unless you need to, do you understand?”

Michael nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Color?”

“Green,” Michael said, firmly, and Ashton ducked down to press a kiss to the nape of Michael’s neck.

“I’ll be back soon,” Ashton murmured against his soft, pale skin, and with one final look at Michael before he passed through the doorway, he was gone.

–

Michael didn’t know how long he waited for Ashton to come back. Even if he leaned all the way to his right, he couldn’t see the time displayed on the DVD player. He sighed a little, because as fun as the novelty of being locked in a cage was, it was very much wearing off without Ashton here to show him what a dirty little useless slut he was.

At that thought, Michael paused, smirking to himself and quirking an eyebrow. Ashton hadn’t told him not to touch himself. He hadn’t even mentioned it at all. And one of Michael’s hands was free.

Now, he knew the risk he was taking, taking the hand that Ashton had very heavily implied was only left loose to free himself and using it instead to jerk himself off, but—Ashton wasn’t giving him a choice. He really wasn’t. He basically had no choice, the way he saw it.

Plus...if Ash was pissed when he got back, his punishment would be even worse. Or better, as Michael tended to see it.

Licking his lip, Michael moved his right hand to his thigh, and instead of touching his cock he cupped his balls in his hand, sighing and leaning his head back, resting it between two of the bars of his cage.

His heart thrummed at that thought. _His cage_. The cage that his boyfriend had gotten just for him, to keep him in, all because Michael said he wanted it. He was so fucking lucky.

Michael closed his eyes, thinking of Ashton, as he took his cock in his hand. A small smile graced his lips as he moved his hand up and down his length, which was slowly growing harder with each pass. He imagined Ashton coming in and finding him like this, making him move onto his hands and knees and this time, slapping him on the ass, teaching him that unless Ashton explicitly told him he _could_ , that he _shouldn’t_.

He imagined Ashton coming home with the sex machine, setting it up, prepping Michael before setting everything up and then letting a thick, fat dildo fuck into his tight hole instead of a real cock. Michael’s hand twitched around his length.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, licking the corner of his mouth and grinding his hips up against his hand, his wrist smacking into the front of his body as he jerked himself off. He was getting close, he thought, the feeling of being locked up still new to him, and he loved it. Upstairs, he heard the front door open and then slam shut, as Ashton returned with the final piece for the amazing gift he’d given Michael.

He ought to stop, he knew, he should pull his hand away from his dripping dick because he was going to be in so, so much trouble, but he knew Ashton wouldn’t take it easy on him if he was caught, and that was what he wanted. There were footsteps on the stairs now, and Michael’s hand sped up, moving over him faster, his hips twitching as he braced himself with both feet on the floor of the cage, the cold metal biting into his skin, the bars pressing lines into his back, and then Ashton was there, huffing and puffing, carrying what had to be an immensely heavy machine.

And there Michael was, disobeying him on a technicality, which Michael never cared about anyway.

It took Ashton a moment to focus, to really _see_ what he was seeing, but when he did, his expression turned stony. Michael had brought himself to climax, his come landing on his chest and stomach, balls tight against his perineum, cock twitching.

Ashton entered the room, setting the machine down; it made a heavy _thunk_ on the floor, and Michael opened his eyes, lungs taking shaky breaths, looking up at Ashton through the bars.

“Sir,” Michael sighed out, and Ashton could have actually screamed at his petulance. The worst part was he knew Michael had him. He hadn’t forbidden Michael from touching himself. He scowled—he would have to make this good.

“Give me the key,” Ashton said, not even bothering to address anything he’d just seen—partly because his cock was interested, half-hard in the jeans he’d changed into—and he snatched the key from Michael’s hand when he held it out. Ashton stood, moving to the opposite side of the cage where Michael’s wrist was secured.

“Color?” Ashton asked, needing to check before they moved along any further.

“Green,” Michael said, sounding a little exasperated at all the checking in—but Ashton wouldn’t stop asking, because this was entirely new to both of them, and things could change in a split second.

“So,” Ashton said, casually, unlocking the cuff and pulling it from his wrist. “You like to come all over yourself, is that right?”

“Yes, sir,” Michael said, sounding proud even though he felt like he knew where Ashton was going with this.

“It’s sad, though, isn’t it?” Ashton said, picking the other straps off of the top of the cage, stepping around it again, to stand astride the fucking machine. He crouched down, behind it, looking Michael dead in the eye. “You’re the only one who wants that. You’re the only person deserving of touching such a filthy thing as yourself. I won’t even touch you. I don’t want to.”

Michael held Ashton’s gaze, biting the inside of his cheek. His softening cock throbbed again, because he _liked_ this.

“But you,” Ashton continued, laughing, unamused, then looking down at the leather straps in his hands. “You’re such a desperate fucking slut that you’d take it however you can get it. I mean, fuck, you’re even willing to let a machine fuck your slutty ass. You’re disgusting.”

Michael’s eyes flicked down to the machine, the dildo on the end thick, and long, a pretty light green color which Michael thought for a moment might have been chosen because it matched his eyes—which was romantic and hilarious at once.

“What?” Ashton asked. “See something you like, slut? Want this inside you?” Ashton slapped the side of the machine, a metallic echo filling the space. “You probably don’t even care which hole I put it in. Do you?”

It took Michael a moment to realize that Ashton was waiting for an answer from him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ashton cut him off.

“I thought so. Slut. You want it there? Want this to fuck your mouth while I fuck your ass?” Again, Ashton paused, and Michael went to answer his question. This time, he was allowed.

“Yes, sir,” Michael said, actually believing that he might be so lucky.

“See, there’s just one problem with that,” Ashton said, lifting the hand holding the leather straps and bringing them back down to slap onto the palm of his other hand. Michael flinched, and Ashton smirked. “You’re not fit for me to touch you. You know that, and I know that you know that. You’re a dirty little slut and I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction. Hands and knees, now.”

Michael tore his gaze away from Ashton, moving onto his hands and knees, the metal hard against them.

“Back up,” Ashton said, but Michael turned to look at him over his shoulder. “What?” he asked, tone still icy.

“I just—” He didn’t want to color out for this, but he really felt like if he didn’t take precautions now, he would have to later, and he wanted to do that even less. “Can you give me something to kneel on?”

Ashton laughed, cutting, but shook his head and stepped over the machine, reaching into the dirty laundry basket to pull out a towel. He threw it at the cage; it landed on the floor beside it. Michael grabbed it and pulled it through the bars, folding it and settling his knees on it—that was better.

“Well?” Ashton said, clearly expectantly, and Michael could have slapped _himself_ for not immediately thanking him.

“Thank you, sir, I’m sorry, sir,” he said, preemptively, because he knew Ashton would ask for an apology, too, and he wanted to get praise wherever he could.

Ashton made a small noise, then returned behind Michael. “You’re going to open yourself up. Understand?”

Michael nodded, making a small noise at the prospect of Ashton watching him get himself ready for a goddamn machine. “Yes, sir.”

There was a small noise to Michael’s left, and when he looked he saw that Ashton had placed a bottle of lube inside the cage for him, but then had backed away and was leaning against the wall.

“Go on,” Ashton prompted him. “Shouldn’t take too long, since I know you love being fucked. You could probably take three right away.” He snorted derisively.

Michael closed his eyes, wondering vaguely if he should try, but really, he knew better than that. He picked up the lube and uncapped it, squeezing some onto his fingers, then balanced himself on his knees and twisted his upper body, his arm reaching around behind himself to rub his hole with two fingers.

Ashton crossed his legs at the ankle, leaning against the wall, not moving his eyes from Michael or what he was doing. Slowly, Michael prodded his hole with the tip of his middle finger, gently easing himself open until his finger was able to slip inside. He was still sensitive from his earlier orgasm, and his reluctance to go too fast must have shown, because Ashton’s voice washed over him again, colder than the metal surrounding him.

“What?” he asked. “I thought you liked coming all over yourself. I thought you wanted to be covered in your own spunk. Don’t tell me a slut like you is having second thoughts?” Ashton said, and scoffed. “You like to come on yourself so much, slut? You’re going to, don’t worry about that.”

Michael shuddered at the words, working his finger into his hole, stretching himself out before adding his forefinger as well. His breath hitched, his body wanting more and less at the same time—he was just glad he hadn’t tried to finger himself before, or he’d be sore as fuck now.

“You’re doing so well,” Ashton said, urging him to continue, but giving him the praise he knew Michael would want, too. “Don’t stop. Keep going.”

Fucking himself with two fingers, Michael let his eyes slip closed, his free hand pressing flat against the bottom of the cage. He rocked his hips into his hand, feeling his fingers deeper and deeper each time he moved. He sighed softly through his nose.

“Get up to four,” Ashton said, though without the rough edge that Michael had grown accustomed to hearing so far, he sounded far away, like Michael was listening to him through water, or thick glass. “It’s bigger than what you’re used to.” He paused. “Or maybe it’s not. I don’t know what a whore like you can take.”

Michael gasped, spreading his fingers before pulling them out of himself, just to get more lube. He poured even more onto his fingers and returned his hand to his asshole, pushing three inside of himself this time.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, then immediately, “I’m sorry, sir.”

“I think, given the circumstances, you can swear,” Ashton said, smirking a little. “Go ahead. Your mouth is as filthy as the rest of you, I’m sure.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Michael moaned, now that he was allowed to, rubbing his fingertips against his entrance from the inside each time he pulled them nearly all the way out. 

“You’re so close,” Ashton said, and Michael could hear the smirk in his voice. “So close to getting me to let this machine use you the way no one else wants to. I bet you don’t even care,” Ashton said, watching as Michael tried to angle his fourth finger into himself as well, his hole gaping as he fucked himself. “Do you, slut? Do you care?”

“No, sir,” Michael said, taking a shuddering breath, smiling to himself when he was finally able to get the last finger on his hand into his hole. He was stretched enough, now, but he spread his fingers anyway, just to be absolutely certain, before pulling his hand away and looking up at Ashton.

“Color?” he asked, and Michael breathed a sigh.

“Green,” he confirmed, and Ashton nodded, stepping forward and crouching down. He laid the leather straps over his thigh, picking up one of the two wider ones.

“Back up,” Ashton instructed. “Come on, fit your legs through…” he said, helping to guide Michael’s feet through spaces in the cage, giving one leg an affectionate squeeze once his thighs were backed up against the metal bars, his hole perfectly centered between two of them. “Hold still.”

Michael did as he was told and stayed perfectly still, his cock hanging between his legs, half-hard—he thought for a fleeting moment about how Ashton must feel, still in jeans, not even willing to give himself any kind of relief. He wondered which of them found this kind of play more intense and found he didn’t really have an answer, but before he could think on it too long, Ashton had wrapped one of the straps around his leg, fastening it around one of the bars, holding Michael’s limb in place. He quickly repeated the action with the other one, then stood up and walked in front of Michael, kneeling down. Michael looked up at him.

“Finally about to get used like the whore you are and you don’t even say thank you,” Ashton admonished him. Michael licked his lip and looked up at Ashton, even though Ashton wasn’t looking at him anymore—he was fixing the smaller straps around Michael’s wrists, locking him securely in place.

“Thank you, sir,” Michael said, and Ashton _tsk_ ed at him—too little too late. Ashton didn’t say anything, but stood up to approach the machine again.

It wasn’t complicated to work. He’d been shown how, knew how to make adjustments to speed and height and depth, knew how to change the dildo on the end, too, even. He shifted the machine closer, lining up the thick toy with Michael’s loosened hole, then reached into the cage for a moment to get the lube. He poured it directly onto the toy, making sure every single inch of it was slicked up. Part of him honestly couldn’t believe he was even in this position—with his boyfriend locked in a cage, strapped into place, about to be fucked by a machine—but the other part felt only gladness that he was able to give Michael what he wanted.

“Ready to prove how worthless you are?” Ashton asked, looking down at the machine, making sure that the speed was set to its slowest setting before turning it on. The dildo inched forward at a glacial pace, its tip against Michael’s hole, pushing into him slowly. Michael exhaled forcefully as the toy entered him, moving about half of its length into him before moving back out, all the way.

Ashton turned it off again and shifted it even closer, so that it would fuck Michael deep (but not too deep), and also be able to remain inside of him.

“Sir,” Michael whined, though, probably not quite getting what Ashton was doing, since he couldn’t see behind himself. “Sir, please, I want it.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” Ashton said, turning the machine back on again. The dildo was propelled forward, slowly, the engine whirring. It breached Michael much quicker this time, nearly its full length moving into him before pulling only halfway out, and then fucking back in.

“Let me guess. ‘Thank you, sir’,” Ashton mocked Michael, who just whined as the dildo fucked into him, agonizingly slowly.

“Thank you, sir,” Michael mumbled.

“Color?” Ashton prompted; his way of asking what, if anything, Michael wanted to change.

“Green,” he whispered, “green, green, _green_ , fuck.”

“Does that mean you want it faster? Harder?” Ashton asked, making the adjustments as Michael nodded his head, his cock hanging down from his flexed hips. His ass was open wide, fully exposed as the machine fucked into him, faster, spreading Michael apart, and his cock was fully erect now, dripping precome onto the towel below him.

“You’re so _wet_ ,” Ashton said, making his tone as judgemental as possible. “God, you fucking live for this, don’t you?” Michael was mumbling nonsense in front of him. Ashton upped the speed just a little. “I can’t believe you thought that I would actually let my dick anywhere _near_ you. A fucking slut like you doesn’t deserve it.” Michael moaned, his cock twitching, spasming. “Frankly, I don’t think you even deserve to have this machine fuck you,” Ashton said, laughing.

Michael’s cock was red and leaking; he wanted more than anything to have a hand on it, his own or Ashton’s, he didn’t fucking care, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. He lowered his hips just a little bit, changing the angle at which the dildo was penetrating him, trying to get it to reach his prostate—and he did. He nearly cried out, half-screaming when the tip nudged the gland repeatedly, over and over, stiffly and fast, rough enough that Michael’s orgasm ripped through him before he even could acknowledge that it was happening. His cock painted thick stripes of semen on the towel, but the machine didn’t stop, and his dick didn’t soften, the stimulation of his prostate too much for his body to overcome.

He was oversensitive already, his second orgasm fading, but he could feel a third one building up. He’d known this was going to take a lot out of him, and he knew that he could take it, but part of him felt like if he wanted to stop this soon, it would all be a waste of time. He could do one more. Just one more would be good.

Ashton was studying Michael’s body, watching him, taking in how the machine using him was affecting every part of him. He’d long stopped trying to forget how hard his dick was in his jeans, trapped there in the confines of the denim—Michael was what mattered right now. He could just jerk off later, if he still wanted to.

“Ash...sir,” Michael was moaning softly, as the machine fucked him even closer toward his third orgasm. His legs were shaky; he wondered if the straps weren’t still holding him up, would he even be able to stay upright?

“Yes?” Ashton asked, keeping his air of indifference but putting one hand on the back of Michael’s leg so he would know he was really listening.

“I’m at...I’m at,” he tried to remember what he was supposed to say to end the scene, but he was so out of it, he couldn’t. He’d never, ever been fucked so thoroughly, so harshly, and he was in such a state of euphoria that he could only manage broken sentences. “Ash, please,” Michael mumbled. “Wanna stop.”

Ashton squeezed Michael’s leg, indicating he’d heard him, and lowered the speed on the machine, then turned it off. It retracted all the way, pulling out of Michael with a wet sound that made Ashton’s dick twitch. The friction on Michael’s rim just from the toy being removed pushed him over the edge of his last orgasm—his cock pulsed, his entire body trembling, but all that appeared was a few, small globs of jizz in the slit in the head of his dick.

“Hold still, babe,” Ashton said, considering everything gone back to normal—now he had a boyfriend to take care of, instead of a sub to dominate. His fingers made quick work of the straps around Michael’s thighs—Michael managed to hold himself up for another couple of moments, before he slumped over to the side, his hip hitting the towel, his hands twisted around the bars. Ashton hurried to undo those restraints as well, and then opened the door to the cage, fitting as much of himself inside as he could.

“Michael,” he whispered, voice and touches soft. “Talk to me.”

“Ash,” Michael said, looking up at him. His lips were deep red and his pupils were blown out, only a barely-there ring of green visible around them. “Tired.”

“I know, babe,” Ashton said, slipping one arm underneath Michael and half-pulling, half-lifting him to the door of the cage. “I just need you to help me get you out of here and then you don’t have to move at all until after you sleep, ok?”

“Mmn,” Michael mumbled, hazily moving his legs to try to push himself up as Ashton half-carried him away from the cage. The fucking cage. He loved that thing already.

Heavy lids kept most of the light in the main room of the basement from Michael’s eyes, until Ashton scooped him up in his arms, and then he was facing the ceiling, the overhead lights shining right on his face. Michael turned toward Ashton, trying to bury his entire being in the fabric of Ashton’s shirt as he was carried to the bathroom.

The upstairs bathroom only had a shower, but the downstairs one only had a bathtub. It was almost as if Ashton had planned the entire thing out in advance. He bit his lip—he should have drawn a bath sooner, but he’d make do.

“Can you balance here?” Ashton asked, gently setting Michael down so he was leaning against the joint between the wall and the sink countertop.

“Yeah,” Michael said, and he sounded pretty coherent, so Ashton turned to run the bathwater. He checked the temperature every few seconds until it was warm edging on hot, and then stoppered the drain. He turned back to Michael, reaching for him with one hand.

Michael’s fingers slipped between Ashton’s, and the older boy stepped closer, helping Michael walk to the tub, but instead of making him step in on his own, he lifted him as best he could, then made sure he was able to keep his balance as he sat in the tub, half on his side.

“Good?” Ashton asked, turning off the flow of water once it hit Michael’s chest.

“Yes, sir,” Michael said absently, and Ashton smiled to himself, lifting a hand to brush Michael’s hair back.

“I’m just Ash again,” he reminded Michael, who looked over at him, returning the smile on Ashton’s lips. He was so tired but felt so, so amazing, his whole body sore and used and _fulfilled_.

“Can you turn the other way? I want to clean you up,” Ashton said, and Michael whined softly but rolled himself half over, so he was facing the wall of the tub. Ashton cleaned Michael’s thighs, between his legs and his cheeks, making sure that he was clean and everything was ok with him.

“‘M clean,” Michael protested after a minute, swiping at Ashton’s hand but only succeeding in splashing him. “Oops,” Michael said, giggling slowly, his eyes still half closed. “Guess you have to get naked now too.”

Ashton bit his lip, grinning, trying not to be swayed by how adorable Michael was. In a normal post-orgasm afterglow, he was a little silly. Now, he was bordering on delirious. Ashton didn’t reply, instead cleaning off Michael’s chest, where he’d come on himself for the first time, purposely instigating to get a worse punishment from Ashton. Well, he’d gotten it.

Leaning away from Michael once he was clean, Ashton unplugged the tub, letting the water drain away; in the meantime, he stood up and grabbed the towel off the hook behind the door, drying every part of Michael that he could reach while he was still sitting lazily in the tub. Ashton draped the wet towel over his shoulder and lifted Michael until he was standing, and then, letting Michael lean against his front, Ashton dried his back, taking extra care around his ass. It still made Michael whimper, but he had to, even though he admittedly felt bad about the slightly pained noises coming from Michael.

“Come here,” Ashton said, helping him step out of the tub—he seemed a little more himself after the bath, which was good, but Ashton was still going to make him take it easy. Together, they walked out to the couch, and Ashton dropped the towel, instead picking up a large blanket that was folded over the back. He wrapped Michael in it and moved him to sit on the sofa, handing him the remote control before placing a kiss to his temple and whispering that he’d be right back.

Michael watched as Ashton jogged up the stairs, his mind still feeling muddled, clouded, and yet he still had the clarity to realize that even though his ass was sore, he still felt _amazing_. He sighed contentedly, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

Ashton reappeared after another moment, taking the stairs two at a time before he joined Michael on the couch, twisting open a bottle of water and handing it to him. “Drink,” he commanded.

“Yes sir,” Michael said, though in a more playful way than earlier. He took the bottle and lifted it to his lips, taking a long sip, then smacked his lips and lowered it. “TV?” he asked, still not quite up to stringing together long sentences.

“Sure,” Ashton said, leaning into Michael, who untucked half of the blanket from around himself and instead put it over Ashton, snuggling into his side instead. Michael’s skin against Ashton’s felt like fire, and he rested his head on Ashton’s shoulder, his breath tickling him through his shirt.

“Hey,” Michael said, slowly, after a minute or two of Ashton flipping through the channels.

“Hm?” Ashton hummed quietly, looking over at Michael.

“You didn’t come.”

“Oh,” Ashton said, quickly shaking his head. “That’s ok, baby, this was for you.” He leaned in to kiss Michael on the lips. “It was all for you, don’t worry about me.”

“You worry about me,” Michael said. “I can worry about you.”

Ashton huffed a small laugh, willing to concede the point, at least. “Fair enough.”

“Let me,” Michael said, moving his hand to Ashton’s crotch, palming him through his jeans. His dick was mostly soft, but at the feeling of a hand on it, Michael could tell it would perk up again.

“Really, it’s ok. I can just go jerk off later, Michael, baby, I promise—”

“I _want_ to,” Michael said, clumsily trying to undo the button of Ashton’s jeans one-handed.

“Ok,” Ashton said, actually kind of grateful that Michael insisted, because handjobs always felt better than jerking off. “Ok, let me do that, hold on.” He reached below the blanket, unbuttoning his jeans, then pushing them down around his thighs, exposing himself below the blanket.

“Yesssss,” Michael said, his voice still thick but managing to sound alert. He wrapped his hand around Ashton, stroking him right away, but with a slow, slow pace, his grip loose.

Ashton’s tongue flitted over his lower lip—he appreciated the gesture, but there was no way in hell Michael was going to get him off that way.

“Baby,” Ashton whispered, taking Michael’s wrist in his hand and pulling it up a little. “You touch me here, ok?”

“Ok,” Michael replied, his voice just as quiet, leaning in to kiss Ashton just below his ear, down his neck and shoulder, too.

With Michael’s fingertips teasing the head of his cock, Ashton was free to stroke himself, tightening his grip as he did, until he found the perfect amount of pressure to put, applying just enough friction to get himself fully hard again.

Michael’s thumb was rubbing a circle over the head of Ashton’s cock, teasing the slit, his lips closed on Ashton’s lower lip as they kissed, lazily, eyes closed, noses brushing. Michael would pull away every few seconds, only to move back in, kissing Ashton again as though he couldn’t get enough at all, as though he never would.

“I love you,” Michael said, eyes closed, lips moving down over Ashton’s jaw to his neck, where he rested his cheek again.

“I love you too,” Ashton said back, voice partly strangled by the closeness of his orgasm; both of their hands working over him was enough to bring him back to the edge, and Michael was the one who brought him over, his thumb rubbing up and down over the underside of the head, making Ashton come, hard, all over both of their hands and the blanket too.

Michael snickered quietly before nuzzling against Ashton’s shoulder. It was only when Ashton leaned his head against Michael’s, sleep overtaking him, that he realized Michael had drifted off as well.


End file.
